


Can't Outrun a Nightmare.

by fireandrain



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Blood, Character Death, F/M, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, Panic Attacks, Past Sexual Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sexual Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-03 06:49:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5280833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fireandrain/pseuds/fireandrain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She thought of what it would be like to float away. Though all she could hear was the slice of steel through human skin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Debt.

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write some scenes from Annie's times in the Games and the development of her character in what I believe had happened. This is my own rendition of the story with a mix of my own headcanons, and I would like this to be a development of her and Finnick's relationship as well but with a heavy emphasis on Annie herself. I hope you enjoy, thanks for reading!

i. 

When she watched her District partner die, the sun was just about to set. 

It was quicker than she imagined, seemingly painless for Junius as the axe slid through his neck. His blood struck across her face, etching into her eyes, coating her lips and swimming in her nostrils, balmy and thick. She had only been a foot away, listening to the latest cannon from District Seven’s fallen tribute. They’d been playing the game for three days. Annie had been surprised that he lasted that long, he had cried the day of his own reaping, Alex was his name? She didn’t want to remember. 

She had felt the sweat trail down her spine as Junius and herself made their way through the aging underbrush. Inches of foliage had begun to crack throughout the day, the sun bearing its smile to incinerate them all. Careers, they were Careers weren’t they? Careers didn’t run, they didn’t cower. They sought and destroyed and conquered. And yet, they were getting away from them all. Alo from Two, Gossamer from One, they were leaving them behind for better ground. Junius had noted their ruthlessness, their anger that led them to turn on their own partners. Their blood was still on their hands, always lingering. There was no objection. 

Annie felt Junius still besides her, his hand curling over the handle of his knife. ‘A beauty’, he had called it, making Annie’s heart thump in apprehension. The bloodbath was easy for them, the others knew that if they got too close, their bodies would be plucked off by the elite. It was how the world worked, how their world worked. Annie walked a few steps away from him, watching as his dark blue eyes squinted in concentration. His father was a fisherman back home, provided her family with enough supplies when her father had become ill three summers ago...they were kind. 

“Do you hear something?” Junius’s voice, she can’t forget his voice, no matter how many days pass her by it resonates in her ears. So earnest, so calm. Sickly flat. 

She wasn’t sure how the girl from District Three obtained the weapon. Wasn’t sure how she meandered through the reedy trees so easily, or how the axe was like an extension of her arm in the pull and swing. All Annie could feel was the blood on her face, slipping into the crevice of her shirt, the microfibers breathing in the new substance. ‘It must be staining it’ she thought. ‘Grey to red to brown to black.’ 

There was no time to react, no time to scream or pick up her thoughts, Annie could only run. She tried to forget what it was like as his body grazed her own, sliding down as she began her trek, light and hushed on her feet. She was quicker than she expected. All she could focus on was the flat soles of her shoes, made for inclines and smooth rocks that scattered the ground. The sky had been bathed with a slick build of orange slime, melting into the corners of the yellow sun. Thick, shimmering moisture never left the arena, the heat always there, waiting, bathing them in a concoction of perspiration and tears.

District Three’s girl did not chase after her. Annie did not hear footsteps. She could only hear her heart pulsing in her ears. ‘Annie. Cresta. A n n i e. C r e s t a. That is who I am.’ She repeated it, only hearing the thump in her head, it ached, threatening to crack through her skull, push around her forehead, rip out of her throat. ‘A n n i e C r e s t a.’ Her thighs burned as she made a jump to the left, deeper into the sparsity that covered the land. Sand mixed with grass. Before her, District Four saturated itself in her arena. Ocean water careened over her knees, muddling her movements, causing her throat to clench, lips to sputter. 

‘You’re stronger than you think,” her mother had said. ‘Cresta’s don’t go down so easily. You’ll never be seen as frail, you’re too resilient for that.’ So loud. Why was everything so fucking loud? 

The past screamed in her brain, her feet shuffled to dodge tree after tree, bringing her farther from the center of the universe. She hadn’t wiped the blood off, didn’t dare move it from her lashes, no matter how thick it coated them. A scream lodged in her chest, she wasn’t here, didn’t dare linger in her body. Floating, dead man's float above the trees. 

‘It’s harder than they think, but not impossible.’ Finnick was blunt. She had looked into his sea-green eyes and could see a flash of...something. Regret was it? A lie? ‘They’re nothing but targets, and you’ve just got to take them down in order to be free.’ Free. Free. Free. How can she be free after this, how can this fetter loosen its hold? There must be a reason to all of this, even after all this blood on her tongue. 

Her backpack was pulling her down as she continued to speed past the nature around her. Starfish clung to her sneakers, eels coiled around her shins and sucked on the waterproof spandex that adorned her body. No water, no water and yet, the ocean was everywhere. Drowning her in fears. 

She couldn’t tell if she was truly crying, didn’t want to stop to find out, instead, she puffed through the warm burn in her muscles. Pain was only relative to death. She felt them tighten and stretch. 

‘You don’t think you can do it?’ He infuriated her. His incredulous tone to her ideas of the whole thing left her seething.

‘I don’t want to kill.’ She was defiant, the two huddled in an empty compartment left only with a couple of glasses filled with bubble champagne. Finnick’s hair was coiffed back, bronze and shining he shook his head at her. 

‘Killing is your ticket out of there. Without it, you’ll get shredded, Cresta.’ It was a strained whisper, lower than she heard him ever speak. 

‘Don't say it like that. Like you're one of them. Maybe I don’t have to kill to get out.’ Annie kept the stillness in her words, not daring to detract her plan for Junius's mentor. For her mentor. Despite it being Mags's year to control the training of Annie herself, medical setback led Finnick to earn him a one man show. Keep them alive, keep them breathing, keep them from gagging on their own morality. She didn't care about the stress, she only cared about getting out. 

Finnick puffed out his frustration, shaking his head so violently she saw his veins spike out from his skin. ‘With a plan like that,’ he grabbed a glass of caramel liquid and raised a toast, a thin line strained his lips, ‘I hope the odds really are in your favor.’ 

She fell. Fast and hard and tumbling into the dusty bushes, Annie felt her body careen under the bunched needles. Junius’s blood smeared behind her as she rolled. A dirty trail of dirty actions. It smelled of Earth and summertime in the north of District Four, where her father was allowed to travel when selling fish, before he couldn’t get out of bed and the family didn’t strive for survival. Her mother had her bait business to keep the house afloat and food coming in, it was the sadness that ate away at them, watching her father decompose and still smile. Even now, on her stomach, face nuzzled in a pile of dirt, she felt her soul rip away at her. 

She could still hear the slicing of his skin. There had been a slight crunch through his spine. In class, she had learned from years of mandatory viewing of the Games that the fastest way to kill your opponent was through the neck. Over and over and over and over again she heard it. Growing louder, deeper, shuddering in her arms and legs. Annie couldn’t move, she didn’t dare roll on her back or find her voice. All she could do was close her eyes and cover her ears, curling in on herself as she tried to think of anything but Junius.

‘Keep this,’ her father said, his eyes the same shade of green as her own. ‘For your token.’ The bracelet was of thick, brown, aging rope that had endured years of tear. His fingers shook as he fastened it around her wrist, his skin melting off the bone. 

‘I’ll try to do my best. I’ll try to get home.’ He held her as she spoke, not a single tear daring to tread. 

‘Just know what it means, Annie. Know what it means to be human when you go in.’ 

Humans don’t kill. Humans don’t rot and rip and shred apart. This is not where she had to be. She couldn’t be here for much longer. She wasn’t. She was dipping in and out of her body, up in the dancing clouds that pulled so thin, down into the cracks of the ground that caused little red ants to dip and fumble. She thought of what it would be like to float away. Though all she could hear was the slice of steel through human skin. 

She hadn’t killed, she led Alo and Gossamer and Junius to pick them apart. She was a locater, so quiet and still they didn’t even hear her coming. She was the scout and she had let four tributes die without picking up a weapon. She knew, deep down, that she was no better than the Careers who snapped bones and flayed others for sport. An ally to monsters only made you a monster in return. 

“Monster. You’re a monster.” She whispered over and over and over again to herself under the brush. Annie’s hand curled into fists and all she could do was beat the tan, dry dirt beneath her. “You let him die.” Her words were too quiet for even herself to hear properly, garbled in the specks of dust. Lungs opened and closed in deafening speeds, air caused her insides to burn, hysterics, was this what it was like to burn? 

As the night began to break over the sky, Annie could not bring it to herself to move from the bundle of needles and leaves. Instead, she kept her fists on her ears, lids strained shut, her mouth opened to steady her breath. 

Living was a price she had to pay for, and yet, she wasn’t ready to settle the debt. Life was something to be won.


	2. In Debt: part ii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘What is a banshee, Papa?’ She was only eight and very curious to the wonders of secrets.
> 
> ‘They are women, Annie, who wail to warn of death. Magical creatures.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, thank you for sticking around for chapter two! I wanted this to be a continuation of how she had survived her Games with a little bit of Finnick in there to build up their relationship. Like I said before, I want this to be more of an Annie-centric fic, but in the future I might write a chapter in the POV of Finnick because his character interests me to no end. I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

ii. 

‘Annie Cresta!’ 

Nona Rehn’s lips were a smooth lavender, her teeth tipped with silver, a single slip of paper nestled between her fingers. Each tendril of aquamarine hair wove with figurine ships, an ivory whale nestled on the top of her wig, bobbing as Rehn made her way from the microphone to the stairs. Fire nails reached forward, curling for Annie to follow. Some elders in the mass of bodies clapped halfheartedly, some fidgeted with discomfort. The other tribute, Mr. Alder’s boy-Junius was it?-waited for his partner with a gentle smirk. He was at the Academy for some time, kind...yet deadly with a spear. 

The Escort’s voice was tinted in that overzealous Capitol accent, she called again, acid to Annie’s ears. District Four’s newest tribute looked up from her spot in the crowd, her sea green eyes settling on the ridiculous woman beckoning her. ‘Eighteen years old, almost gone...not quite.’ Her thoughts resounded in her head, bouncing along the edges of her toes as she put one foot in front of the other, Annie’s eyes settled on the stage before her. 

Off in the distance, the sea began to roar a mighty cry for her, calling her back to the waves. She could smell the brine that mixed in the rocky sand, she could practically feel the grains on the bottoms of her feet, the sharp whips of water striking her skin as she dove deeper and deeper. Light blue, the water was light blue, she could remember that. 

‘Now! We have our two valiant tributes to represent one of the strongest District in all of Panem! Wonderful, oh this is simply wonderful!’ 

No one volunteered for her, no one dared to raise their voice to sacrifice their lives for the able bodied couple. Not even for Annie, even in her fits of sadness, when the days had grown too weary with her father and getting out of bed seemed like a task too great, they all stood so still. This was different, this was the survival of the fittest and she wasn’t sure what kind of person would be left as the fittest. 

She lies there now, beneath the needle bush and drying leaves, Junius’s blood cracking off her lips as the sun begins to rise again for the third time since she fell there. She contemplates death, wonders what it would feel like to just give up, to just let go of the hold this pain gives. Bones creak and skin pull as she rolls to her side, exposed to the groaning sun, the only cannon that sounded was that of her District partner. Two days without destruction, entropy stilled. 

Inside her backpack, Annie fishes out her treasures from the Cornucopia that she’s nipped at over the days. A thick roll gauze bandages, a canteen of fresh water, a circular compass, and a bag of almonds. Basic, solid, trite objects that have aided in her survival, no matter what that pertains to. Her fingers stretch out the collar of her shirt, rubbing the material to the flakes of blood. Clean, clean, clean, she had to get clean. The water spreads into the slips of her throat, the sting in her ears does not soften. Hour after hour after hour, she listens to the hiss of steel through spine, haunting her. Annie listens to the voices of each tribute she scouted. 

To the girl from Eight, the boy from Twelve, boy from Five, to the boy of Nine. They screamed when Junius gutted them, they cried and begged and pleaded for someone to help, to go home, to let it be swift. And she did it again and again and again, until all that was left was her breaking mind and sore eyes. She covered the sides of her ears and tried, for the third morning in a row, to just stop these fucking screams in her head. Closed lids and biting lips, it did nothing to quell this agony in her heart. 

It was the sharp crack, however, that hushed the howls of the damned. The pebbles beneath her shook, dust scattered on her legs and she could only feel the rumble of the ground as the trees ached against the force. Her arena was shifting, the world below growling at her from within, a nimble branch slid off its respective bark three feet away from her. Annie could not move without her limbs crashing in on themselves. 

“Earthquake.” A squeak covered by the growing agitation of rock escaped her chapped lips. 

The Gamemakers have gotten impatient with the tributes' insubordination. The Capitol viewers grew antsy for more action on screen, this was what had to happen, for it happened every year. The bloodlust was in them all, urging them to continue the pattern that’s driven them before, human nature was a funny thing.

Annie wasn’t sure what the girl from Eleven was running from as she swished past her, a look of terror urging from the other's face drove Four’s last tribute to attempt an escape from...whatever it was. Annie fumbled past the slender trees, felt their hands swat at her cheeks and cause her legs to collide into the bushes, Eleven called out for her partner above the moans a step ahead of her, clinging to a nearby trunk. All Annie could do was swerve around her, trying to make her way to the clearing. 

‘Are they driving us together? Scaring us to the middle where they’ll eventually get their show?’ The screams of her past curdled in on her thoughts, they came back in rolls, pulling her back, ripping at her scalp. 

That’s when she could feel the spray of water hit her shins. She glanced back to see the waves of dark blue water rush at her, billowing, breathing, dancing water that tore down the trees and whipped Eleven towards a stagnant boulder. Annie wasn’t sure when that girl stopped yelling for her partner, didn’t seem to remember who they were or why they were there, she only made do with the water and her skin. She worked with the streams that built around her, let it reach to her knees, her thighs, her hips, her stomach, she peddled through and discarded her backpack behind her, Annie started to live in the waves that sped past her. 

Underwater, reality disappears. Noises are muffled, screams stifled, her matted hair twirling towards the sky as she felt her body consumed by the waves. She had recalled, a flash of thought, of Gossamer saying there was a dam at the end of the arena. He and his partner, a nameless face now, had wandered to the ends of the dirt to find it, searching for any tributes to pluck off for supplies on the second day. It took half a day for them to get back. The water was thicker than she expected, murky and fresh, a hassle to push through. Her legs burned and lungs yawned as she broke through the flood's surface. 

‘Great to see you two.’ His voice, wrapped around her throat like saltwater taffy. The famous, astonishing, Finnick Odair in the flesh. She had only seen him on television, with each eccentric Capitol suitor adorning his arm, his smile distant and bright. He watched them, calculating their movements, weighing out the probability of their lives in the Games. Mags was silent, smoothing out the ends of the table’s decorations. It had been only a few months since she was discharged from Capitol hospitals after suffering a stroke.

‘And you, Mr. Odair.’ Junius extended his hand, gazing at Finnick with wide eyes and a warm smile. They shook, grasping on to their forearms as if they’d known each other for years, Annie could only look to her food. Delicacies far heavier than the meals her mother made. 

He glanced over to her. ‘It’s nice to meet you, Annie.’ Arm extended, his eyes flashed something wonderful. 

‘Hello.’ She returned the gesture. It was more of a whisper, this greeting that caused her heart to hurt. She had seen him being interviewed by Ceasar Flickerman, knew how charming he could be, knew the cockiness that laced his walk. 

“HELP ME!” 

Annie snapped from the memory, brought back to the cries of the girl from Three. The girl who killed Junius. She didn’t know how to swim, that much Annie could tell. All she could do was watch Three thrash through the peaking of the waves, dipping in and out, in and out, in and out, gasping mouthfuls of that obscure water as Annie glided. 

A humane person would go on to help her. A humane person would stop this, would scoop her up and bring her to the space where the water would end. Annie wasn't humane anymore. She knew that would cause for more chaos, more death, more screams. 

“HELP ME, PLEASE!” 

She made Annie’s heart thump, made her head hurt, made her hate everything about herself. Made Annie hate her. 

‘A n n i e. C r e s t a. My name is Annie Cresta. That is who I am. A n n i e.’ She repeated it, over and over again silently. She tried to think past the other’s screams, tried to alleviate the guilt making room in her chest. They were all dying around her, while she lived, their families would look at her as if she were a monster. Truth be told, she knew that’s all she was in the end. ‘My name is Annie Cresta. A n n i e C r e s t a.’ 

The noises stopped. 

Instead, the sky filled with the cracks of cannons as the water took down each tribute. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. One after another, ripping into her side, even as she moved forward, skimming the tops of the trees with her feet, her sneakers flopping on the sides of leaves, they fell. 

When she was younger, her father would throw her into the deeper parts of the sea and watch as she’d skim back to the top. She’d laugh, saltwater in her eyes, up her nose, she’d cough and giggle and paddle back to him. His eyes would shine, the green in them lightening from the burning sun. This was ages before the illness came over him, before his stomach would reject any type of food, before his eyes were so heavy in his stares. This was before darkness entered her life. He would cradle her in his arms and shoot her forward, propelling her to the depths she’d never gone to before. It was all a game back then. This was just a game she knew she’d win now. 

Slowly, as the cannons rang out, and the waves began to slow, she found herself turning onto her back, floating so close to the milky sky. Daggers entered her muscles, tearing down and down again, screams filling her wounds. She listened to them gag against the water, felt their pain as they clung to treetops, they were desperate. Annie looked to the clouds and felt the weight of their deaths on her shoulders. She was winning. 

‘What does it mean to win?’ Nona's arms swayed as she talked, her smile twitching as she watched Junius and Annie pick at their breakfast. She was malleable and tall and filled with plush. Her eyes were a light blue, Annie’s favorite color. 

‘Pride. Victory. Being better than the others.’ Junius was blunt, a year younger than Annie and yet he had so much confidence in himself.

‘Being the best. And the best never lose.’ 

How wrong they all were. 

The final cannon rang out as the water began to drain. Annie floated down, her arms and legs slowly swishing in the thinning pool. The hovercrafts had scooped up their bodies, had taken them away to be prepped and scrubbed and ready for burial. Annie did not get up from the sodden grass, the clearing was the only solace she was given, her arms outstretched beside her. She closed her eyes as the faces of those fallen flashed in the sky, she couldn’t bear to look at the ones she surpassed, she didn’t think she’d want to remember them anyways. 

All she could do was fill her lungs and let out a careworn screech into the air around her. Her head was thrown back and the guttural noise that she released was something primal. They called out her name, crowning her the Victor of the 70th Annual Hunger Games, all she could do was scream. 

Light filled her parent’s bedroom. 

‘What is a banshee, Papa?’ Her tiny, dimpled hands reached out toward the book in her mother’s dresser. It was hidden beneath the piles of windbreakers and woolen socks, tucked away from the eyes of strangers. The pages had yellowed and aged, the illustrations almost running to the binding, she was only eight and very curious to the wonders of secrets.

‘They are women, Annie, who wail to warn of death. Magical creatures.’ Her father took the book from her hands, tucking it away beneath his wife’s clothes. 

‘Are they mean?’ She cocked her head to the side and looked at him for some time. 

‘No, no they’re not mean, sweet one. They’re just lost between the land of the living and those who have died. They are warning us.’ 

The world was tilting as the hovercraft took her in, her screams a mere gurgle as she was laid upon a slab of cold.


	3. A World in Bright.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The focal point in a garden of terror, he was human, breathing, beating, lingering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to make this chapter a little more dialogue and Finnick heavy. It's a shorter one but I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

iii.

Her parents stand before her, father’s arms crossed, mother healthy, their eyes lined in disgust. She’s reaching out to them, her fingers barely grazing the hairs on her father’s arms. Mousey brown hair, just like she has, just like her mother has. 

‘Papa...Papa, please.’ She can feel the tears on her cheeks, hurricane tears, she watches as he recoils as she draws near him. He shakes his head. 

‘How could you even think-even believe that a monster like you could come to us.’ He frees his arms, fingers curling and uncurling and curling back into fists. Her mother can only stare at her daughter, searching for a sense of purpose within her. Ms. Cresta finds nothing. Shaking, her father is shaking with rage, eyes closed and opened again to take her in. ‘How could you expect us to love you when you’re so filled with death?’ 

‘Papa, I didn’t-I had to-.’ She’s sputtering, why didn’t he understand? Why didn’t he just look into her eyes and see how followed she was by these ghosts? These damn maggot white ghosts who never leave, just take up space in her throat. Why can’t her mother just find that there is some light left in her, that these shadows weren’t permanent. 

He takes a step toward her, raising his fist, a wild fury in his soul. ‘Humans don’t kill other humans.’ She shudders away from him. ‘How could we love something as sick as you?’ 

Annie’s eyes open with a deafening pop, fingernails scraping alongside the starched linen of her bedsheets. Antiseptic and stiff, she feels alone and hollow. A single room with one bed made for just her. Was this where they led demons to their redemption? 

“You’re finally awake.” 

His voice like warm wind sliding down her back. Calm, collected, muddling the sweat on her brow, his breath came over her. Arms slick with perspiration, the dream lingered in her pulse, she sat up to view him. 

Finnick was pleasant to look at. With golden skin and bronzed hair and sea green eyes that sang behind the children of Four. She could tell why he was such a commodity in the Capitol. They loved him for his looks, his athletics, but Annie wasn’t sure she was on the same boat. Never really wanted to give it much thought in the first place. 

“Finally?” Soft voice, soft words, harsh throat. Her chest burnt with each inhale, her eyes adjusting to the intensity of the room plucked with her in mind. Foggy thoughts flooded her brain, dark water, slick steel, dust beneath her palms.

“You’ve been out for two days. They-the doctors-they wanted to make sure you were set to go before doing anything major.” He sat, elbows on his knees as he bent forward to her right, knuckles skimming her mattress. Fresh faced and sunny, he looked content to be there. It wasn’t fair. He looked free, free, free, while she was bolted down to her past, drowning in that thick ocean. Annie felt her innards begin to snap the longer she looked at him, envy oozed and corroded through her eyes, he took it to be tears. 

“You’ll be okay for n-”

“Where am I?” 

She broke through his words, sniffling as she glanced around, hands shaking to grab at paper blankets. Thin, so thin, why were they so damn thin? 

“You’re in the infirmary in a very prestigious Capitol hospital. Post-Hunger Games perks, I guess. Finest medical care in our existence.” Flat words from such a rounded smile, Annie continued to allow tears to pass her by. 

“I won?” Swiping at her cheeks, she tries to think past the noises of a swishing blade echoing in her head. Her fingers itch to cover her ears, she fights it. 

He frowns. “No one wins, Annie. You just become a Victor.” 

Too much, too much, why was he saying this? Frank and harsh and coated in iron, it didn’t make any sense. 

“Should you be saying any of this?” Lungs open, lungs close, panic setting in and she just can’t seem to swim any faster. 

He shrugs. “The doctors and nurses all left when I came in. I wanted to check up on you, just coaxed you out into what’s up ahead.” He leans back. “Few get to really experience it.” 

She closes her eyes, focuses on the images in her head and lets them take over. Junius’s eyes before he was killed, wide for a moment and then turned to glass, covered in dirt and a dainty blades of grass as he rolled to the ground. Three’s wrinkled fingers reaching out above the water, her swaying torso aiming for that artificial sun. Alo’s smirk as he drove his blade deeper and deeper into his partner’s throat, the look of anguish on her face…

“Annie?” 

She emerges back into the blinding white. 

Finnick smiles. There is no malice or pity in his eyes, nothing in him that tries to hold her down in shame, he just smiles. “I lost you there for a second.”

She gasps for clean air. “Does this ever end?” Shaking her head, she feels the smoothness of her skin, the callouses of Four labor gone, she is newly born into the order of desperation. 

A beat passes. He looks at her, as if weighing his option beforehand. The space between his eyebrows crease, his lower lip sucked beneath the sheen of his teeth, he bites once and sighs. “No. It doesn’t. It just becomes different after a while.” 

The words sink in, smoother than any boat hitting the ocean’s floor, flatlining in the corners of her heart. This would be with her forever. She would wake up with this, fall asleep with this, be jolted and cajoled and sacrificed by these thoughts. Annie wraps the delicate blankets around her arms, dives into the thickness of her mattress. She rests her head upon her pillow and stares into his eyes, not daring to break the connection.

“Then why live?” She is Three begging for her life. 

She thought of her mother’s words. Cresta’s don’t give up, they don’t give in, they persevere. 

His voice drops low, eyes soft, he doesn’t look at her. “For hope of peace.” 

“And what peace comes with becoming a killer?” She is Junius’s crinkled eyes.

He can’t look at her. “To show the future that’s there’s proof in change. That living makes us do fucked up things we can’t control, that human instinct is too powerful to confine. We just have to get up, Annie, and move forward. If we don’t, we’ll never see anything change.” 

When she was twelve, her mother sat her down in front of the fireplace and plaited her hair. She worked through the knots and waves of Annie’s strands with meticulous determination, brushing and pulling and snapping through each snarl that passed her by. All Annie could think about was how wonderful the end result would be, how nice the braid would sit on her back, how beautiful her mother’s frustration would resolve the pain. It was worth it after all. 

She whispers. “How do you get through it?” Annie rings her hangs on the edges of her blankets, bringing the layers to her nose and inhales gently. Antiseptic washes out the lingering memories for a jolt, cleansing her for the now. 

Finnick’s eyes flick to her, his golden skin juxtaposing the white walls and white tiles and white light that dared to stun her. The focal point in a garden of terror, he was human, breathing, beating, lingering.

Last winter, when the wind had picked up and temperatures dozed off to tepid degrees, she watched one of his interviews with Caesar Flickerman. Her mother's bait shop had acquired a hand-me-down television set for the pedestrians to enjoy. He was with his latest beau, a vibrantly dressed woman of thirty with violet eyes tattooed on her skin, they were speaking about relationships between Capitol citizens and Victors. He laughed on cue, took her hand, kissed her cheeks, smoothed out her ebony ringlets to reveal an underside of auburn dye. Annie remembered feeling sorry for him, for having such intimate movements being projected throughout the country. Having nothing sacred after winning, being a Victor meant being an outlet of entertainment for those who wish to follow. 

She could only look at him now. 

His right hand reaches out to the flap of her pillowcase, giving it a single tug to smooth it out beneath her head. He smiles. “I like to do simple things to keep me going. Remembering a time fishing with my mother, think of my favorite foods, memorize phrases that give me hope. Monotonous things that add up in the end. Even when it seems unbearable.” 

She smiles. “I spell my name.” 

Something clicks behind his lips that makes Annie feel calm, she breathes. 

“A n n i e.” He laughs. “F i n n i c k. Just another way you can do it.” He gets up from his seat, swiping his palms on the sides of his tan trousers, his smile softer now. “You have an interview with Flickerman tomorrow, bright and early. It’s going to be a bit long but...you’ll just have to do your best, right?”

She nods, watching as Finnick turns on his heel, strolling on polished floors to the only exit in her room. She wonders what it must be like to wake up as Finnick Odair, holding so many lovers and expectations in your arms. She wonders how heavy days must be for him. She wonders if the days will get any lighter for herself. 

“Finnick?” Annie speaks as his fingers cover the doorknob, he doesn’t turn, just freezes in his place. “Have you ever heard of banshees?” 

She can see his head shake, his profile showing a perplexed, intrigued look. “Can’t say I have, Annie.” 

The room sloshes with silence after that. Finnick clears his throat and disappears behind the door, leaving Annie with the carnivorous past set up for her return. She feels her body wind against itself beneath her covers, her palms cover the sides of her head, eyes shut and chest rapid. Underwater, reality is all consuming.


	4. Starring Role

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She was sorry that they thought he could mend the world with a smile and wink, she knew they wouldn’t expect that much out of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit longer with a little more Finnick/Annie.

iv.

“Wonderful, you look simply wonderful!” 

Annie watches as Nona Rehn swishes from corner to corner of her dressing room, picking at various dresses and headpieces that catch the Escort’s eye. Rehn’s wig has been tinted a milky white, seahorses dance in the corner of her curls, it seems too heavy for her head. The newly crowned Victor sits there surrounded by her bustling prep team, watching as they scour the room for swatches of lipstick and hair ties, differing forms of frivolity that made Annie’s head ache. 

“I don’t want that.” She flinches away from the dark brown rouge presented by Valencia, the slightest pigment etching into dried blood territory. ‘On your face’ Annie’s thoughts reverberated. ‘On your cheeks, in your mouth.’ Her hand swats out, knocking into the fluffy blending brush in the prep’s grasp, dry powder scattering onto the floor. 

“Annie no, Annie dear, you’ve got to give it a chance. All of Panem will see, they’ll be so proud.” Heels skitter clack on the polished wooden floors, Nona’s smile is strained as she replaces Valencia’s space, scooping up the brush with a perfectly manicured hand. Sea-green nails, the color of Annie’s eyes. 

A weight drops in the pit of her stomach. “Please, I don’t want that on my face.” Pleading, running, surfacing words that break through the fog of the medicinal cocktail pushed by Capitol doctors. 

Nona sighs against her better judgement, throwing the brush on the vanity before the crew and raises her arms above the cloudy wig. “Then let the rest of our country see you as a bedraggled little girl. You said no to the dress, to the hairstylist, to the bath for crying out loud! Afraid of water from District Four, simply unheard of.” She motions to Annie, her nails skimming the forest green dress, the satin skipping in one white line. “Valencia, Faunus, Favonius, just let her go. She’ll figure it out on her own.” 

Not right, not right. Where was the Capitol pride? The unquenchable thirst for admiration in a sea of strangers. The gloating and boasting that came with dressing up District dolls to hide their tremors in eyeshadow, their breaking smiles with lipstick, the nightmares in dresses and suits that glimmered. It was all for the show. Nona shook her head as she pushed the gaggle out the door, her lips sharp and hard. 

Annie could only hear the rasp of her own breath, the beating of her heart, something inside her brain rumbled. Her hair had been plaited, over and over again into altered states of braid, they settled on a simple one that gathered her hair from the front to the back. It lay dormant on the middle of her spine. Brown eyeshadow shrouded her lids, the rest of her face left clean. Freckled nose, thin lips, a long face, her mother’s face. She wasn’t completely herself, wasn’t sure when she’d get that feeling back. 

“Guess they left you hanging?”

Familiar tone seeping into her pores. Annie’s eyes shot to the top corner of the vanity mirror, a grin playing on her lips as she saw her mentor. His suit was pressed, the navy material melting into the crisp tan of his skin, his eyes seemed brighter. He leaned against the door frame with ease.

She didn’t turn in her seat, didn’t face him right away. Instead, she grabbed the compact of powder, dipping her fingers into the fine dust and roving it on her palm. “I wouldn’t let them put this blush on me. It was too dark.” Dark brown, rotting blood, coagulating on her hands, too soft to grasp. 

“I think you look fine as you do now.” She could hear the sincerity, Capitol charm hidden away for a time too close for her liking. He didn’t put on airs with her, his voice flat and true, his smiles welcoming. 

Annie glanced back to the mirror, her hands had smudged in powder, a noise close to a laugh escaped her lips. “Thank you, Finnick. Though, if you tell Nona that, I’m sure she’d give you a few pointers on what’s expected and what’s not.” Free flowing words, easy words, heaviness being sucked back into the universe, away from her. 

He chuckled, suede shoes gently padding to the miscellaneous lounge chairs behind her, his form never truly sticking anywhere for too long. Her eyes followed him, her heart steady, noises vacant in her calm. “Well,” he began. “I guess Nona will just have to deal with her work already. She’ll have her time for the Tour anyways.” His lips twitched, his eyes finding hers in the immaculate reflection, Annie could feel the apology in them. 

“Did they call you in to persuade me in all of this?” Tap, tap tap, fingertips against palm, tap, tap, tap. For a beat, their eyes never lost connection, the words trapped against his lips. 

He sauntered near her, to her left, she never looked away from the mirror, wouldn’t dare look away. He leaned one arm against the vanity top, his other arm bent behind him, curled hand on the tail end of his suit jacket. Finnick didn’t face away from the mirror, no matter how close he was to Annie. 

Low, biting words for her ears only. “They thought my irresistible charm would bring you back to your senses. Seems as if you know more than I do.” His eyes skirt down to his knuckles, one finger giving a detached push to a tube of coral colored lipstick. 

“I’m sorry, Finnick.” She was sorry that they projected so much of his life on screen for trivial enjoyment. She was sorry that he was so young when he killed so many. She was sorry that they thought he could mend the world with a smile and wink, she knew they wouldn’t expect that much out of her. “I’m sorry.” 

She looked away from the mirror, gazing at his profile as he continued to push the rolling tube. He swallowed hard. Annie took in the edge of his jawline, the melancholic light in his eyes as Finnick focused on something-anything, that wasn’t her, she tried to make sense of it all. Her head kept the rhythmic motion of her fingers, tap, tap, tap. Noises hushed, screaming gone, medicine at bay. She kept looking at him. 

“You’re on in five minutes.” Finnick pushed himself away, his face pointed to the floor, actions swift. She didn’t regret saying what she did, didn’t feel anything but a strange zap in her chest, a little part of her stitching itself together. His voice hadn’t been callous or caustic or careless, it was only of soft rejoice. Annie could almost feel relief on her shoulders. 

…

“So...Annie, how does it feel?” Caesar Flickerman’s hair has taken to new heights, literally. Scaling almost three feet, the bouffant has been molded and sketched to become a perfect, oblong, tower of crimson. His lips are plumped with the Capitol’s finest plastic surgery techniques, his cheeks just as exuberant, his smile is squashed between the hills.  
She feels the heat on her bare skin, her arms scorching under the artificial lighting, all eyes on her. Annie blinks, once, twice, three times before trying to clear her throat. How did she feel? 

“I-It’s, it’s definitely something new.” Tap, tap, tap, her high-heeled foot bouncing off the carpeted floor. Her eyes dance to Caesar, to his shoes (black and filling with blood), back to his eyes, and to his shoes again (why were they filling with blood?). Her heart was so loud she feared they could hear it, that all of Panem could hear her apprehension, smell her guilt rolling off of her in waves. They were all watching her, predators ready to lunge at the nearest mishap. 

“‘New’ must certainly be an understatement! So modest! Annie, you have topped over twenty-three other competitors to be here. Such an honor! You must feel so glorious!” He had been like this for her original interviews, so enthusiastic, so willing to hear the best of what she had to say. She had been smoother then, sweeter, and a hell of a lot more confident. Fake, fake, fake. That’s all she was, a fake little monster. 

“Well...well, yes, it feels good to be here. With you. With all of you.” Brusque, why couldn’t she speed this up? Dark, thick water slowed her down. She felt her eyelids grow heavy, her painted lashes muddling her view of the world, sweat was slick on her palms.

Caesar nodded his head, his skyscraper hair waving at her in the process. His words were coated in that Capitol accent, chipper and lighter than she’d ever wanted to hear it. “Oh, of course, my dear, of course! And we are so very happy to have you back here. You know, I have to say, I was utterly heartbroken when your partner, Junius, when Junius was attacked by Faraday from Three. Tell me, how was it when that transpired? What were you feeling? Better yet! Play the tape, we should all review it with you, as it broke all of our hearts!”

‘No, no, no, no. Anything but this.’

The crowd cheered as the lights dimmed, the screen behind them illuminated with a growing picture. Annie’s hands instinctively went to the arms of her chair, body tensing, her head whipping from the screen, to Caesar, to the crowd, searching for someone to stop this. A bubble formed in her throat as she saw herself on screen with Junius, walking in the silent underbrush. She had been so thin, so wired on the lack of sleep, so unassuming of what was to come. Her lungs pedaled as she continued to search in the crowd of painted strangers, she could feel the tears brimming in her eyes as she glared at Caesar, his gaze absorbed in the snippet. 

“Do you hear something?” That voice, she knew what was coming. Annie couldn’t control her breathing, she felt the tears break free, avalanching on her cheeks in tidal waves, she was the flood incarnate. She heard the slice of steel through skin as she clung to the vision of Caesar for the last time. The noises overwhelmed her. 

Annie’s hands went directly to cover her ears, her legs coming up to shrink herself on the armchair, her eyelids ached as she clenched them shut. Her body shook as the lights came back on, her tears becoming more rapid, moans escaping her lips as she tried to stop the image from her head. Over and over and over again, it never eased. Were they replaying it? Ignoring the scene before them and focusing on the carnage of the past. Of how she ran. Five minutes in and she’s already shaking. 

‘Is this forever?’ The noises were so much louder than her thoughts. 

She felt it, red hot and scalding on her shoulder, the touch of a hand. Flinching away, farther and farther, so quickly she falls off the chair and on to the part of the rug that had once padded her feet. Eyes flying open, her form collapsing, arms out and flailing, she looks for a haven. Caesar Flickerman is surrounded by the image of Annie’s face, a blood streak eating at the freckles on her nose. 

She couldn’t control her lips from parting, popping the bubble that had formed in her throat, a cutting scream throwing itself throughout the room. She screamed and screamed, backing away from the nightmares that never left, she scrambled for something to hold onto. She tried to get to her feet but the floor length gown wouldn’t allow that. Sickly sweet demeanour crushed to dust by her own melting heart. 

Caesar wasn’t sure what to do, looking around at the crowd and giving a weak smile, he motioned for the Peacekeepers on set to lift her away. As they advanced, Annie could only stop to catch her breath, the air turning from floral to salt to the smell of drying dust. She felt strong arms around her, hoisting her up to support her back, the undersides of her knees. 

“It’s okay, Annie. Hey, hey, Annie, it’s okay. You’re not there anymore, Annie.” Low, soft words. Finnick’s words. She looked at him, her screams dying out and replaced by frantic breaths. She shook, trying to look away from the giant screen of her face, paused on blood and cowardice and anguish. “It’s okay, Annie. You’re safe for now, you’re here, not there.” He whispered in her ear as he carried her backstage, away from the gawking crowd, away from their gasps and shrieks and disapproving stares. 

“A n n i e. C r e s t a. That is who I am. A n n i e C r e s t a.” Eyes opened, eyes closed, she whispers to herself, to Finnick, to any ghost that was willing to stop their wailing and listen to her. 

After some time walking, he set her down on a lounge chair in her dressing room, the velvet scratching at her arms. He knelt before her, holding her head between his hands gently to stop her sporadic searches for something-anything that wasn’t death. He looked into her eyes and she looked into his and she tried to catch her breath and dry her tears. 

“What’s your favorite color?” A simple question. Another whisper, Finnick tried to take her away from there. She clung to his wrists, her gasps for breath fanning his cheeks, a millions images raced in her mind. Low tide at home, the color of the sky before dinnertime, her mother’s favorite holiday dress. 

“L-light blue, like the ocean.” Her voice rasped, she focused on the color, trying to soak in the feelings it once gave her. His thumb ran over the last of her tears, slowly removing his featherlight grasp from her, Finnick continued to watch her as she floated down toward the ground beneath them. 

“Light blue, I like that color too.” He smiled, genuine and kind. Swifty, he nodded once and made his way to the miniature refrigerator by the door. Fishing through he grabbed the nearest bottle and handed it to her, cold and fresh and brimming with condensation. The liquid made her shiver. 

“I learned about what you said before, about banshees.” He sat on the coffee table in front of her, hands tucked in his pockets, watching as she sipped every so often.   
Annie looked to his feet, trying to ward off the last murmurs in the back of her head, trying so hard to just become whole again. She nodded, numbly, body hoarse. “Do you think they’re cruel?” She wouldn’t look at him, trying to steady herself. Hands still shook, her eyes still wanting to dance across the room, foot tap, tap, tapping. One intake of breath to steady her lungs. 

Eyes crinkling, he cocked his head to the side, grasping her words with a skillful hand. One shake of the head and he glances at his hands, stretching out his fingers and feeling the air. “Not really. They may scare some people off but-but I think they’re inherently honest and good. They warn others, don’t they? Tell of things that we’re all too scared to really want to know. I think that the banshees are, in their own way, the heroes.” 

Annie’s eyes shoot to him and silently thank him for confirming what she thought all along.


End file.
